


The Life and Crimes of Sirius Black

by emAeye



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU, M/M, Marauders, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:18:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emAeye/pseuds/emAeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU 1970s/80s/90s. Remus is a true-crime author writing the story of infamous murderer Sirius Black, who has been imprisoned for life at a mental institution for the criminally insane after being convicted for the murder of Peter Pettigrew, and suspected for the murders of James & Lily Potter.</p><p>-------</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Laughter

**Chapter One**

**Laughter**

 

 

* * *

 

 

The ceiling fan was off-kilter and had been for many years; each time it hit rotation a soft clicking noise was produced, and at high speed the entire thing threatened to disembark from the ceiling and severely harm whoever was unlucky enough to be under it. To solve this problem, Remus kept it on low and had shoved his desk as far away from under it as he could. He wasn't much for doing repairs, nor was he much for paying to get them done. A budget was a terrible curse to a writer and most of his money went to cheap cigarettes and fine paper for his typewriter. The two things he could not live without.

It had been years since he had had a solid selling in the true-crime market. Or any market, for that matter. After two close boyhood friends of his had been murdered, it seemed strange to keep writing about killers. Something about it became far too personal, and Remus could no longer detach himself from the gruesome horror that was cold blooded murder. How he had done it in the first place was a mystery enough to him.

But there was something sickly fascinating about it all. His specialty was the criminally insane. Everyone who said the voices made them do it, who cried they were Christ reborn: he went into their minds and detailed their atrocities, and savored every moment of it in a disturbing sort of way.

 

 At least, he had.

 

Perhaps the inclination to detail the lives of the criminally insane had something to do with almost being killed himself at a very young age. Remus hardly remembered the occurrence, due to shock, but since late adolescence he had kept this terrible interest in killers and their minds. Mostly he yearned to know why he had been chosen, but he had yet to find that exact answer. It always varied from killer to killer, and his was long dead.

He had been kidnapped for approximately five hours before being rescued. The man that took him had been convinced that Remus was a child of the devil, and had tried to exorcise him in very brutal ways. This had been done with three children previous, whom had all been drowned as a final "cleansing". Remus still bore the mark of a cross upon both wrists, though they were somewhat faded and stretched oddly from growth. He took to wearing long sleeves during his teen years, as many terrible rumors had been spread about him. If it weren't for his closest friends, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black, Remus may very well have suffered much more greatly --not that he hadn't suffered more than his fair share.

Because Remus was smart, often quiet, and had a strange interest in murders, he had been rather ostracized during later grade school and throughout high school. Kids often whispered that he had tried to kill himself, and that was where the scars on his wrists came from. If he tried to tell them the truth, he was called a liar. Or, if a particularly cruel person was jostling him, they would have said that he should have been killed. James often came to his aid when violence broke about, as did Peter. They were always willing to get into a scuffle for his sake, and Remus owed them entirely too much.

And then there was Sirius Black, whom perhaps came to Remus' aid more than anyone else ever had or would. The number of black eyes, bloody lips, and near-broken bones would have been startling if one did not know Sirius Black. He was fiercely loyal, terribly witty, incredibly charming, and the most brash young man Remus had ever encountered.

 

It was so confusing, so painful, so unsurprising that Sirius had killed Peter that night, immediately after finding James and his wife dead at their flat. Lily had been pregnant. Whether or not Sirius was their murderer was unknown presently, but he was convicted for the murder of Peter Pettigrew near immediately. Sirius had distrusted Peter for several years previously, had confided in Remus once that he didn't trust Peter, that something was quite wrong with him.

Remus had laughed it off. Sirius... wasn't the most reliable in the head during those years. He was going through several medication trials, something to control his anger and his hurt. He had been terribly abused as a boy, which was perhaps what had connected Remus to him in the first place.

 

Sirius, in short, had a lot of problems and not a lot of ways to fix them.

 

Insanity was an easy plea, and the right fit. Sirius Black would be locked away for the rest of his life in a padded room, kept tranquilized with various drugs, and never allowed to see the light of day again. It was a fate worse than death. Sirius had said so himself to the presses, as he was lead from the court to a patrol car to take him away.

 

_"I'd rather they lift the ban on executions, cut out all the bullshit, and hang me."_

Remus had been asked to testify at the trials, but had declined to do so. He gave a private interview with the police, though was uncertain of whether or not Sirius was capable of murder. When pressed to a breaking point, Remus caved.

 

_"Yes, god, fine, yes. I, Remus Lupin, believe that Sirius Black was ill of mind and capable of murder."_

 

He'd been questioned for twelve hours. Considering that he was also a suspect, as there were very few, Remus had had no choice but to cooperate. The Potters were attempting to transition into witness protection, as James had gotten into a stitch while on duty as a police officer. He and Sirius had been partners and junior detectives together, getting into the force after high school. Remus had gone to college and Peter had been put to work at his parent's corner shop when his mother had become ill.

 

James and Sirius had been near inseparable for years, and the fact that Sirius would know where they were relocating was hardly a big surprise to anyone that knew them. The first night in a new home, and the Potters were struck down in cold blood. James had been stabbed a total of twenty-seven times, and Lily, poor pregnant Lily, had her throat slit and her stomach cut open. It was brutal and malicious and _wrong_.

Remus remembered the night in great detail. He had been sitting, going over notes from his last criminal interview, when he got a call from Sirius. It was storming out something terrible, and Sirius was at a payphone. He was completely manic.

 

_"They're dead, --mus! James an -- ily and -- bab--! The --aby! --Killed -- baby, Rem--!"_

 

The payphone was cut with static and rain and Sirius' frantic words were so hard to understand. Remus panicked when the line went dead, and called the police. Two hours later Sirius was seen fleeing from the alleyway where Peter Pettigrew's body was recovered. The face was mangled something terrible, so Remus heard, and the detectives had quite the time piecing him back together. His limbs had been cut away, and the entire mess lit on fire. The few teeth they did find matched Peter's dental records, and coupled with eye-witness accounts of Sirius fleeing was enough to put him away for life.

One woman said Sirius was laughing as he took off into the night.

 

Remus didn't doubt that.

 

He imagined Sirius' dark, rumbling laugh that lit up the entire room and surely filled the street that night. Louder than the rain, louder than the thunder and the cars and louder than the entire world. That laugh that Remus hated and loved in equal measure because it was so unabashed and so pure in moments where laughter was inappropriate and yet the only correct response to a stimulus. That laughter when Remus said, _"Don't look at me,"_ when he changed into his pajamas when they were seventeen and Sirius had sneaked up to his window in the middle of the night with a bruised cheek and swollen mouth; another trophy to show his mother's love.

But Sirius had looked and said, _"I don't think there's anything wrong with you, Remus."_ Despite the scars of his 'purification' as a child that littered more than his wrists. Despite the fact that Remus hunched and felt so uncomfortable in his own skin, as if he really was unclean, as if he had been a child of the devil.

And Remus didn't believe him, thought Sirius was only placating him, being kind, until he'd taken Remus by the face and kissed him hard and fled out into the night with that laugh. That laugh that filled the street then, and drowned out the rain, and became louder than the entire world trapped inside Remus' head.

 

That laugh.

 

Despite the fact that he hadn't heard it in twelve years, Remus was still haunted by it. In the middle of the night, in the morning while he made his tea, whenever it rained and the wind howled and the world became too loud and too much. He'd never be rid of it, and a severe part of him, a deep and twisted aching in him, didn't want to be.

 

The ceiling fan clicked softly as Remus stubbed out the remains of his cigarette. He had just gotten the call from his publisher about writing again. It had been over a decade. He couldn't live on meager royalties forever. He'd been an overnight success when his first book had come out, and so many had thought he would go so far in the field. He had a way with words.

_"Mary, what am I supposed to write about now? There hasn't been a good murder in... years."_

A long silence. Mary sighed.

_"Sirius Black."_

Remus didn't say anything, just inhaled the smoke from his cigarette and blew it out again.

Stop the thoughts. Dull the pain. Don't think about his laugh.

 

_"He's asked for you, Remus. He's been approached by several authors, but the presses say he'll only talk to you. You got the clippings I sent you?"_

_"Yeah, I got them. Hell of an article, right? Sirius Black wants to entrust his old school friend to write his biography after killing everyone the writer held dear. Lovely, just lovely, Mary."_

_"Think about it, Remus. I know it's... hard, but imagine the money you'd make from hype alone. Forget the target audience; everyone would want a piece of this. You're running out of money, Remus, and Grindelwald's story isn't selling anymore. It's been nearly fifteen years since you wrote it. You've got to get back into writing, Remus. Even if it's not Black's story, you've got to do something or... we're going to have to let you go."_

_"So that's it then, Mary? I write or I lose my publisher? And here I thought you'd grown so fond of our monthly calls."_

_"Remus."_

_"I'll think about it."_

And he had thought about it, for a long time. For twelve years. He'd saved all the newspaper articles about Sirius, every blurb printed about him, every grainy picture in the papers, every single word uttered about Sirius Black murdering Peter Pettigrew, and being highly suspected of murdering James and Lily Potter. Then he'd tucked the shoebox full of it all away in the attic, and promised himself he'd never talk to Sirius Black again.

Though if Remus had ever kept a single promise to himself, he would've gone into accounting in college like he had planned. He would've spent his free time doing productive things. He would have kissed many girls and taken many risks and never would he have loved Sirius Black the way he did. Secretly and passionately and with great shame.  

Remus just wasn't very good at keeping promises to himself. So he'd break this one too, and he'd write Sirius' story, and he'd do the interviews, and he'd see the man that had ruined so many lives in a single night.

 

"The Life and Crimes of Sirius Black," Remus smirked faintly, with amused sadness, and lit up another cigarette as Sirius' barking laughter filled his head.

 


	2. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus, plagued with memory, arrives at St. Mungo's Institution for the Criminally Insane to meet with Head Doctor Albus Dumbledore.  
> \---

**Chapter Two**

**Smoke**

 

* * *

 

            He remembered the fire in vivid detail. The groan and crack of timber, the red and orange and yellow bright against dark sky. The way the smoke filled his nose and his lungs and stung his eyes as they just stood there and watched. Sirius had lit a cigarette, and the smoke joined what lifted into the sky as his house burned down.

"I can't believe you've done it," Remus murmured, caught between awe and terror as embers lifted to the wind and expired like dying stars. Quick and poignant. But in all honesty he could believe it. Sirius had always said he would burn the house down when the time was right.

"I can't believe you helped," Sirius grinned like a cat with a secret and passed over the cigarette before shoving his hands in his pockets, idly kicking at the ground, "I always figured it would've been James, but, you know..."  
  
"I don't know."

"You're leaving again."  


And he was. Remus was bound back for university in a week, and this would probably be the last time he and Sirius were alone together. Sirius and James would be graduating the academy soon, put on as real police officers by the end of the month. It was a hell of a thing.

 

The house burned slow, and for a while they didn't say anything to each other. Sirius' parents had died. His brother had died. At almost twenty years old, Sirius was alone. Relatively speaking, at least. There were relatives here and there, but he was the last pure Black roaming the earth. And Remus was leaving again. They'd been apart for a year and Remus had come back just for holidays, just for a couple weeks, just to see his friends, his parents, Sirius.

 

"What happened to us?" Sirius asked, more to himself than to Remus, "What have we become?"

"Don't," Remus responded immediately, perhaps more coldly than he had intended. So, softer, he repeated it, "Don't."

Sirius stared at him a moment, before leaning close and pressing his forehead to the side of Remus' face. He whispered, "I miss you," and breathed deep.  


Remus closed his eyes and inhaled smoke and sweat and leather. Whatever ideas Sirius had of what they could be were wrong. Not that they were lost on Remus, for he felt the need and the longing more greatly than he could bear it; but they were wrong. Remus was going back to college, Sirius was going to be some hero detective, and they were never going to be whatever it was Sirius had ideas about. Not in this time, at least.

His first week of college, Remus had been walking home late and witnessed a man being hassled in an alley. They called him 'faggot' and 'cocksucker' and spat on him. The kid got away, nearly knocked Remus over as he ran, blood on his mouth and tears in his eyes. Whatever good Stonewall had done in 1969 still hadn't caught mainstream in 1980. And with Sirius' being an officer soon... only bad things would happen. The type of thing you read about in the newspaper.

 

**"Hero Detective Disgraced By Homosexual Affair"**

**"Faggots In The Force --Know Who's Keeping Your Family Safe"**

**"Deviant Police Officer Found Dead With Gay Lover"**

 

It couldn't happen.

 

Sirius pressed his mouth to Remus' ear said it again, "Remus, I've missed you."  
  
  
"Shut up," Remus almost begged and turned his head away. But it only took Sirius' fingers at his chin to make him look back, and it only took Sirius' wet eyes to break Remus, "Please, just, shut up."

Sirius kissed him, hard and angry and hurt, and Remus grasped his leather jacket and they wept silently together as the fire died down.  


The next morning Sirius had already left his bed, and Remus didn't say goodbye before leaving back for school.

 

\---

 

  The smoke burned his eyes as the wind blew it back into his face while he drove up the poorly paved road. St. Mungo's was a place he had visited often in the old days, when he was just getting started. He interviewed many of the doctors and nurses about Grindelwald, got to see the man's old room, where blood still stained from when he had attacked a nurse. Gellert Grindelwald hadn't been a typical crazy, but he was more offbeat than not. It was part racism, part mad scientist. He experimented on live human beings, tortured them for the thrill of it. His story had made one hell of a book.

But that was years ago. Remus hadn't been to St. Mungo's Institution for the Criminally Insane in over a decade. It was a ways from the Scotland border to Just South of the Middle of Nowhere, East Sussex, but not terribly unbearable. Remus enjoyed a good drive to clear his head, though it seemed as if that had been impossible on this trip. He didn't plan to stay long, didn't think he'd even rent a room for the night. He'd managed to get a bit of stay from his publisher, with the promise that the book would get finished no matter what. Whether it really would or not, Remus hadn't any idea.

He'd thought up grand plans of waltzing in to see Sirius all bundled up in a straight jacket, and act cold and indifferent and ask only what was necessary for the book. And on other nights he'd lie awake in bed wondering if Sirius would even recognize him, what sort of medications they had him on, how far his mind had deteriorated.

The night of the Great House Fire, Remus had seen the trouble in Sirius' mind, the things that he tried to hide from everyone, the things that still were just dark and lurking and not quite realized. The manic joy he had from littering gas-cans throughout the isolated house, the crazed anger with which he tore down his mother's portrait and wrecked the sitting room. And after that he had done no more but light a match and watch it all burn. He didn't even go through to see if there was anything he'd want to keep. Remus doubted there would have been.

At sixteen Sirius had moved in with the Potter's, and probably hadn't left anything behind in the old Victorian manor. The last time he had been back, Remus knew, was to see Regulus just once on Regulus' birthday. Sirius had tried to get his brother to leave with him, but their mother attacked Sirius, and he never returned. What all happened that night Remus didn't know, other than the fact that a soaking Sirius had turned up at his windowsill late that night and kissed him and filled the street with laughter.  


Sirius' home had been somewhat hidden, located far away from prying neighbors and eyes. The Black's had been known to have some underhand dealings, and Mrs. Black had been particularly paranoid. She refused to live in town, for fear that someone would break in and steal her treasures or dirty her fine rugs. Whatever shady things went on in Black Manor, Remus didn't know, but was sure to find out. Whatver it was had been enough for Sirius to go back and try to get his brother out of there.  


Coming upon St. Mungo's was much like going to Black Manor. Ancient and sprawling and decidedly chilling. The main road led to a parking lot that had very few cars, and Remus recalled that most of the staff lived on-site. He didn't bother to roll up his window before getting out, though took a moment to take in his surroundings. It was at once familiar and new, and despite the fact that he had been calm on the drive down, Remus was starting to feel frantic.

Before he could chicken out, there was a call to him from the front steps of the main building.  


"Mr. Lupin!" A blonde nurse greeted him fondly, waved him in, "It's been quite some time, hasn't it?"  


"Oh, yes, Ms. McKinnon," Remus mustered a polite grin, though he had never been overly fond of Marlene, "It's been quite some time, indeed."  


"The head doctor will be pleased to see you," She assured, and led the way inside.

 

The ceilings were tall and painted a strange shade of dull yellow-brown. The entire place reeked of cleanser, though didn't look terribly clean. Several walls seemed to have water stains, and the floor tiles seemed well worn and without any gleam. Remus supposed that there wasn't much money put into the place anymore, as institutions like this were closing left and right. Keeping the insane away from everyone and everything was no longer cost effective, and many prisons had been adding wards rather than new facilities being built. It was a shame, really. Remus enjoyed these old places, in the same sickly way that he enjoyed picking apart the minds of murderers.

They didn't speak as Marlene led Remus to a private office, though a soft chill of delight ran through Remus as he read the faded gold lettering on the door window: _Albus Dumbledore_  


During his time working on Grindelwald's story, Dumbledore had been paramount to the entire book. He knew more about Grindelwald than anyone else, at least in his formative years. The two had been friends before Gellert went insane, or perhaps he had been insane the entire time. Albus had hinted at that being the case, but perhaps due to nostalgia he had never come out and said it. The fact that Grindelwald was kept at St. Mungo's for a short period of time had always struck Remus as rather sad, as Albus would have had to care for his poor, murderous friend.  


Now Remus was nearly in the same position.

 

"The doctor should be with you shortly," Marlene informed before leaving Remus be.  


"Thank you," He murmured, though didn't look as Marlene left and shut the door. The office was more or less unchanged. The old leather office chair, which had been old the first time Remus had stepped foot in this room, looked as if it hadn't aged at all. The green carpet still had the same wear spots, where Remus was positive that Dumbledore paced while he thought.

All manner of knick-knacks were strewn about the desk and bookshelves, and with a fondness Remus recalled Albus saying that busy hands helped a busy mind sort itself. It had been good advice for a young man writing his first book, and Remus had collected all manner of knick-knacks himself. Sirius had even gotten him a stupid little stress ball, mailed it to him and everything. Remus had teased that he'd probably chewed on it, the dog he was.

The sudden memory made all fondness fade away, and Remus took a seat. Perhaps this wasn't the right idea. Perhaps he shouldn't be writing this book. Perhaps he wasn't strong enough to do this. Perhaps, perhaps, perha--  


"Slouching already, Remus?" Dumbledore's soft, kind voice contained a hint of amusement, as it always seemed to. Remus hadn't even heard him come in, but immediately rose to shake the old man's hand. He seemed as ancient as the chair he sat in, but Dumbledore was as spry as ever. The glint in his eyes said so.  


"It's been a day," Remus replied good-naturedly, taking a seat again only when Dumbledore did. The head doctor organized some papers on his desk before giving Remus his full attention, his hands clasped together as wizened men and fidgety children are apt to put them when needing to concentrate.  
  
  
"I read your book," Albus grinned, nearly modest, "It was very good, and very sad."

  
"Ah," Remus nodded faintly, but was at a loss for words. He imagined it was sad to Albus in ways that it wasn't sad to other people. Grindelwald had been his friend, and in deep secret Albus had revealed to be in love with him. Of course Remus hadn't put that into the book, but the two now shared something of solidarity between them. Loves of their lives driven insane, murderous, locked up in mental wards with the whole world watching. It was a hell of a bond to share.  


"I suppose you don't want to see him today," Albus continued, "But you can do the staff interviews as you wish, much like last time. Next week--"

  
"How is he?" Remus couldn't contain it. For twelve years he had heard nothing of Sirius' condition, and more than anything he needed to know. He had promised himself in the ride over that he wouldn't ask, that he would just wait to see for himself, but he could not. Albus seemed terribly understanding, and for a moment terribly weary.

  
"He has his days, as we all do," The doctor arose and rummaged through his bookshelf, looking for a particular knick-knack with which to keep his hands busy, "Often he's found talking in riddles to himself, and I'm not quite sure why. He won't tell me, or any of the other doctors or nurses, what's going on in his head. No violent outbursts though, not really. Mostly he... sits, and waits."

  
Remus was thoroughly disheartened. For all the hatred that he had built up for Sirius, for all the rage he had gone through, all the pain he had already suffered, to hear that Sirius just sat and waited was... heartbreaking.

  
"What does he wait for?" Remus asked softly, though wasn't sure he wanted to know. Albus turned about with a finger trap stuck to his indexes, and while the sight of a proper medical doctor aged over sixty caught in a finger trap would have normally been amusing, Remus was only sad.

  
"I think you ought to know," Albus murmured, freeing himself but not taking a seat, "He's asked of you for a long time, Remus. As his condition has worsened he's... he's become more paranoid that someone is out to get him. Two weeks ago he scared one of the nurses by hiding behind his door when she was doing room checks. He didn't hurt her, just gave her a fright, but he kept saying that they were... coming for him."

  
"Who, though? Who does he think is coming for him?" Remus couldn't understand it, or perhaps he just didn't want to. Sirius' mother had always been paranoid this way; it was possible that the trait had passed into Sirius. The idea was frightening, that Sirius was really this broken. It was hard to imagine, and at the same time it was all Remus _could_ imagine.

  
"I don't know," Albus sighed faintly and shook his head, "He was so worked up when a reporter came --Rita Skeeter. She was doing an article on the closing of institutions like this, and as she was taking a tour of one of the sitting rooms he grabbed her, pleaded with her, to write to you. He had to be detained, but Skeeter did it. I'm sure her article is the only reason you're here."

  
It was more or less true. Rita's article had made the rounds, all flash and bang, how Sirius wanted his old friend to write his story. It had all seemed so tragic in print, and Remus had burned the copy that his publisher had sent him. But here he was, going through with it.

  
"Yes, I've been meaning to send her a thank-you card," Remus mumbled, though Albus seemed to grin from the poor joke. Remus sighed and reached for the pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket, "He's really that bad?"

  
"For now," Albus murmured, though put up a hand to stop Remus from lighting his cigarette, "If you'd be so kind as to take it to the yards?"

  
"Oh, yes, of course," Remus nodded quickly and stashed the smoke before standing, "Force of habit." And more or less that was true.

  
"Whenever you're ready to see him, we'll arrange it. Are you staying in town?" Dumbledore asked, walking with Remus to the door.

  
"No, no, I figured I'd head back tonight," Remus didn't want to stay in town, really. The farther he could get now seemed like the right idea. Knowing that Sirius was so close, despite the fact that Remus had not seen him yet, was a little more than he could bear after such news of his condition.

  
"If you want, at some point, I can put you up in one of the staff apartments," Dumbledore assured and placed his hand upon Remus' shoulder, "Don't worry, Remus, it's not as dark as it seems."

  
Remus' lips curled faintly and went tight, but he said nothing before heading out to the walking grounds. Staying in one of the staff apartments didn't seem appropriate, even if they were located on the other side of the estate, which was a fair distance. Staying anywhere near this place seemed like a horrid idea. Even in town seemed too close.  
  
As he walked through the gardens Remus felt terribly claustrophobic in the fresh air. It took several tries to get his cigarette lit, and the smoke burned his eyes when he managed to. He cursed and held his head a moment, the wetness in his eyes threatening to spill. A physical pain always made the emotional ones rush forward, and Remus had a certain disdain for that. He'd spent so much of his adolesence controlling his emotions that to feel them try to overtake him was always a battle well fought and hard won.

 

 

_Sirius lit a cigarette as they lay together in Remus' bed, naked thighs touching but not much else._

_"Do you hate it that much, Remus?"_

_"Hate what?"_

_"Loving me."_

_Sirius passed over the cigarette._

_"...Yes."_

_The smoke stung Remus' eyes._   
  
_He didn't cry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact:  
> There is actually an abandoned mental institution in East Sussex, called Hellingly.

**Author's Note:**

> Later chapters will most probably include gore/blood/explicit depictions of things some people wouldn't like to be explicit, but those chapters will have warnings.


End file.
